


A Job Well Done

by Wix (Xaidurk)



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Boot Worship, Bootblacking, Fantasy, Gay, Half-orc, Light BDSM, M/M, Service Submission, Submission, bootblack, completely self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6664156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaidurk/pseuds/Wix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aram and Flynn, a half-orc and a mostly-human-partially-orc (respectively), return from mercenary duties one evening. Flynn, in a blatantly self-interested-yet-altruistic move, services Aram's boots. Not much else to say about this one, other than it's MOSTLY straight-up boot worshiping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Job Well Done

**Author's Note:**

> I should preface this by saying I've never been a bootblack, nor have I had my boots shined--it's something I'm new to and in the process of exploring. Forgive any inconsistencies with actual bootblacking practices and methods in this, since I admittedly didn't research this nearly enough. What can I say? I wasn't thinking with my brain when I wrote this.
> 
> ...And if you know me IRL and recognize these two dudes (despite my pisspoor attempt at changing their names) from our campaigns, I am so. so sorry. I have no excuse.

 

A job well done, indeed. Aram and Flynn stepped into their room in the tavern, covered in muck and dirt and bits of plants and some splashes of sticky blood here and there. Flynn set his quiver and bow aside and flopped backwards to the bed. Aram sank into the big chair in the corner—definitely, this was a nicer tavern—and kicked up his feet with a long, deep sigh.

            “Nice one out there,” he said. “That guy didn’t see it comin’.” Flynn nodded.

            “Same to you. I scarcely think that fellow knew his arm was missing,” he said. A moment later, Arnold popped his head into the room and knocked on the door. Flynn waved him in.

            “Need a cleanin’?” Arnold said.

            “Hell yes,” Aram said. Arnold waved his hands around them a few times, making motions like he was brushing away dirt, and grime fell from Aram and Flynn’s bodies and dissipated. Bloodstains evaporated, mud sloughed away into nothingness, and even sweat drid out with the lightest motion. Aram especially loved to watch the magical process.

            “All good,” Arnold said. Flynn and Aram thanked him and he curtsied on his way out. “You’re a beautiful audience—I’ll be here all week.” He shut the door behind him.

            Aram unstrapped parts of his chest armor and set it on the floor, leaning against the wall. He cracked his neck—once on the right side, twice on the left when it wasn’t satisfying enough—and closed his eyes.

            “Lord, can’t believe how achy I’ve been getting these days,” he said. Flynn glanced at him with a little frown.

            “Poor man,” he said. “I could massage you.” Aram shook his head.

            “Nah, I’ll be fine,” he said. “Just need some shuteye.” Soon, he was snoring away. Flynn sat up in the bed with his arms crossed, and watched Aram. Even with his size and gruff expressions and all those ragged scars, he looked damn peaceful while he slept after a job was done. Completely unaware to the world around him, completely vulnerable—something Aram never let himself be while he was awake. And Flynn knew this was rare. During travels or in the midst of carrying out a job, Aram never slept like this. In those times, Aram would rest his back against a wall, or some tree or bolder, set his greataxe next to his right leg, cross his arms, lower his chin to stifle his snores, and sleep. He once told Flynn that he never dreamed while they were travelling, especially. Years of experience of being on the road—especially as a half-orc—had trained him well.

            But today was special. Today, they completed a job, and they carried it out finely—no unforeseen dangers, no forgotten tasks, no blunders. They came away from it with heavier coin purses, and even earned a tip for expediency. So Aram actually drifted off to sleep. He allowed himself a chance to dream. There was no enemy here in the tavern. He wouldn’t have to jump to his feet and defend himself. He could just doze off with his head rolled back onto his right shoulder and snore loud enough to scare the mice. He could put his feet up and cross his legs.

            Flynn asked him what he dreamed about when they did get these rare luxuries, once when they were in the middle of a long journey. Aram scratched at a scabby gash on his forehead with his good hand, stared off beyond Flynn’s presence. He winced and turned his gaze to the bright blood staining his fingertip.

            “I don’t remember,” he’d said. “Probably something nice.”

            Flynn frowned at the memory and shuddered. Bad times. Focus on the present. Maybe get some sleep yourself, his better side suggested.

            He would, at some point. But for now he just wanted to watch Aram snooze. The big man’s head suddenly flopped down mid-snore, and he awoke. It was a little heartbreaking for Flynn. Aram rubbed the back of his neck.

            “How long’s it been?” he said. Flynn glanced out the window at the sun.

            “Some hours,” he said, with some degree of surprise. Perhaps he’d been inadvertently meditating.

            “Have the others done anything?”

            “Not that I know of,” Flynn said. Aram uncrossed his legs, and that’s when Flynn noticed just how creased and dusty his boots were. Weren’t they black at some point instead of ashy grey? He frowned. “When’s the last time you shined those?”

            Aram raised his eyebrows and looked at himself to see what Flynn was pointing to.

            “My boots?” he said. When Flynn nodded, he shrugged. “Don’t believe I’ve ever shined them. Why?”

            “You ought to take better care of those,” Flynn said. Aram chuckled.

            “We earn enough that I could get another pair,” he said. Flynn rolled his eyes. He stood up and grabbed his coin purse.

            “Don’t move,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

            The leatherworker’s shop wasn’t too far from the tavern. Flynn walked in, bought what he needed, and walked out. When he returned, he sat down right in front of Aram’s footrest, and placed his tools down: Two horsehair brushes (one short and round, one long and rectangular), soap, a basin filled with water, a tub of polish, a towel, and a finer cloth. Flynn grabbed one of Aram’s boots and directed him so its sole pressed flatly against the footrest.

            “Not the best angle, but we’ll make it work,” Flynn said to himself.

            “What in the world are you doing?” Aram said, leaning forward to see all the things Flynn had gone out and bought. Flynn looked up at him.

            “Cleaning these off for you,” he said. Aram clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.

            “Come, now,” he said. “You don’t need to do that. If you want me to have clean, shiny boots so badly, I’ll do it later. For now, let me rest.” He put his feet down, flat on the floor, and leaned back in the chair again.

            “No, wait,” Flynn said, and tugged him by his boot again. “I don’t think you get it.”

            “Get what?” Aram said. He was clearly irritated. Flynn sighed and looked down at the floor between his feet. He looked back up. Time for honesty.

            “I really… I really _want_ to do this for you,” he said. “You get it now? It’ll help me relax, and it might help you relax, too.”

            Aram stared at him. Was that a hint of red in Flynn’s cheeks?

            “You want to clean my boots,” he said, repeating the most basic part of Flynn’s request.

            “Yes. Please.”

            Well, the p-word sealed it. Aram sighed and nodded.

            “Okay,” he said, and repositioned his foot.

            Flynn grinned to himself and started by unlacing Aram’s boots. They went up to just below his knees, but Flynn’s fingers worked swiftly. Once the came off, Flynn really began cleaning with the long brush, from heel to toe. He beat away the biggest chunks of dirt and mud, but gently—like he was caressing the leather, not cleaning it. Once those were cleared, he focused on getting the dust out of the creases and tight parts. For this, he used the smaller, round brush. The edge along the welts gathered the most filth, save for the bottoms of his soles. He bent over those boots and put his strength into each movement.

            Aram watched, fascinated. Beats of sweat actually formed on Flynn’s forehead, and his knuckles were pale from his grip on the brush. And, he was totally flushed. Aram could feel the heat emanate from his body, even at a bit of a distance.

            Now Flynn dipped one of the cloths into the pot of polish. He worked it into Aram’s right boot first, then his left. He rubbed it in little circles along the vamp, the counter, the upper shaft and cuff, but he especially paid attention to the toe caps. Those were his favorite. He licked his upper lip at the thought of pressing his tongue against it, giving it the spit shine it really warranted. But Aram wouldn’t allow that, and he couldn’t ask to do that just yet. Tasting that part of Aram’s boot was really just as desirable as tasting Aram’s cock—if not more so, since Aram was always happy to get a blowjob. Absence and the heart growing fonder, and so on.

            Flynn finished with the polish. His fingertips were a little blackened now, but he moved on. He wiped his fingers to get them a little cleaner, and dipped the second cloth into the basin of water. After straining excess water from it, he flicked it off to the side with a snap—mostly for flourish. This he moved in little circles as well, getting his face closer and closer to Aram’s boots so he wouldn’t miss a single detail. The potent smell of leather filled his nostrils.

            Aram rubbed his chin and leaned to see Flynn’s face. Ah, yes—the half-lidded eyes. Now he understood.

            “Flynn—is this exciting for you?” he said. Flynn jolted and looked up. He was bright red.

            “I—what? I’m just—I’m only—!” he said. Oh, Aram loved it when he stammered like that.

            “Are you horny?” Aram said with a grin. Flynn looked away. He clutched the damp cloth and sat back in his seat. Now Aram could see his waist, and indeed, Flynn was hard. At _least_ at half-chub, if not more.

            “Perhaps a bit,” Flynn said. Aram smiled and lifted his right foot. He pressed it against Flynn’s chest gently—teasingly, more like it. Flynn looked down with wide eyes. “Aram, you—?” Aram lifted his chin, like he was appraising something. He moved his foot left and right, just beneath Flynn’s neck.

            “My, my,” Aram said. He lingered on the first M. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not finished quite yet, yes?” Flynn nodded. He could feel his erection growing, just short of throbbing.

            “No, I still need to—”

            “Good, because as it stands… this is completely unacceptable,” Aram said. Flynn bit his lower lip to avoid grinning like a fool. “Still filthy as ever. A bit of improvement, yes, but I should be able to see my reflection in these. Don’t you agree?”

            Flynn nodded, and thanked every god or goddess he could remember. Obviously, he’d pleased them all at once somehow.

            “Good. Get back to work.” Aram kicked Flynn down (Flynn wished he’d been a little rougher), and put his boot back up. Flynn sat up once more and picked up the cloth. He continued wiping it down with water, paying special attention to the toe cap.

            Aram had to admit that his little performance entertained him, and now was exciting him a little, too. He wondered if Flynn even noticed how big his bulge was getting, but the smaller man was busy at work, just like he commanded. There was something so… appealing in the way Flynn worked at his boots like this.

            Flynn examined each portion of Aram’s boot, searching for smudges or sections of leather that could stand to be a little shinier. He took the polishing cloth once more and worked at the inner part of the counter—another place he particularly enjoyed. While he delighted in sucking on the toe cap, paying extra attention to that inner crease, just in front of the heel, aroused him in the same way Aram’s ass did. Its hidden nature made it that more intimate.

            He nearly lost himself in that crease. His trembling fingers pressed into it and brushed hard leather. Now Flynn felt like he was floating. He recalled feeling like this when he and Aram first had sex, and many times after that.

            “Hey,” Aram said, tapping his fingertip against the chair’s armrest. Flynn shook his head and looked up. “Let’s see you work that tongue, yes?”

            Flynn’s jaw nearly dropped. Already? So soon? After this was over—and please, let it not be over too quickly—he promised he’d make a hefty donation to the nearest church of whoever.

            “Yes, sir.” The words fell like stones from his mouth. Any other day, he and Aram were equals, cohorts, comrades-in-arms and in each other’s arms. But now—now, right at this moment, this very second—Aram was “sir.” _His_ sir. Flynn’s lord, master, owner, savior.

            Nervously, eagerly, he opened his mouth and stuck out the tip of his tongue. His heart beat in his ears. He leaned for the toe cap and—

            “No, no, not _your_ tongue,” Aram said with a smirk. “The boot’s tongue. You’ve scarcely touched it.”

            Perverted fool!

            Flynn flushed red and bowed his head. He’d gotten caught in the moment. He’d actually _forgotten_ such an integral part of Aram’s footwear. The tongue, underappreciated in its function, waited for him patiently. Waiting, and reminding him of its existence by peering out past eyelets and the cuff connecting the rest of the boot to Aram’s body. And the shame he felt was too real. Blood from his pelvis returned to his head like smelling salts—but not all of it. Only enough to snap him back to reality. Rest assured, this minor humiliation was just as emotionally arousing as everything else.

            “I’m so sorry, sir,” he said.

            “Be thankful that I forgive you,” Aram said. Flynn pulled back the row of eyelets to reveal the tongue. Sweat and heat from Aram’s calves made his fingers warm and wet. Only now did Flynn realize just how similar this part of Aram’s boot was to another sexual orifice. He appreciated it that much more, and the desire to explore it with his lips came back. But he held back. Not yet. He needed permission.

            Aram’s skin tingled as Flynn carefully worked with the tongue of his boot. Whenever Flynn brushed him unintentionally, it sent electricity up his nerves, into his spine. He shuddered. He was so hard now, without even _touching_ himself or _any_ sensitive part of his body. Perhaps seeing exactly how hot Flynn was about this, but perhaps he enjoyed this new… responsibility. This new role as “sir.” And maybe he paid so much attention to every movement of Flynn’s hands, every flick of his wrist, that he could barely, just _barely_ feel what his boots were feeling.

            It felt good. Like a deep massage.

            Flynn pulled out the tongue with care. Now Aram’s shin was totally bare. Coarse little hairs stood out against his brown skin, except where there were scars. Hair did not grow on those. For a moment, they distracted Flynn from his work, but he quickly reset his attention. He worked, cleaning off dust and dirt from the each of the tongues, one after the other.

            “Is this acceptable, sir?” he said, still not making eye contact with Aram. Aram regarded them lazily. He rubbed his beard, sticking out his chin a little more and emphasizing his tusky overbite.

            “I must admit, I am impressed…” He struggled for the word. What _was_ Flynn right now? Not a slave, not a pet. He was too eager, too well-behaved… ah. “…Boy.”

            Flynn’s heart raced and he tightened his lips. A piss-poor attempt at masking his delight. Boy! Exactly the same as his fantasies.

            “So, have I pleased you, sir?” he said, hopefully. Hopeful that Aram would call him _good_. Hopeful that he could be Aram’s _good boy_.

            Aram rubbed his chin some more.

            “Let’s see you lace them back up, then I’ll let you know,” he said. Flynn happily obliged. He strung a brand-new set of laces through each eyelet, but not in the same pattern they were once in. In the middle of the laces, right on top of Aram’s ankle, he left a gap. Aram raised an eyebrow.

            “You’ve told me that sometimes your boots are too tight around your ankles, sir,” Flynn said. “By lacing them this way, the ankles will be more flexible, sir.”

            Aram lifted his foot and rotated his ankle—first his left, then his right.

            “So it worked,” he said. “I can feel the difference.” Flynn smiled and got back to shining once he put his feet down again. He could see his reflection in the toe cap, just barely. “You know, you’ve been a good boy for me,” Aram said. “A _very_ good boy. I think you’re nearly done.”

            Flynn looked up with a big grin.

            “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I’m… I’m so happy to hear I’ve pleased you, sir.”

            “Let’s see a traditional spit shine, then,” Aram said. “Be sure to get every nook and cranny with your sweet little tongue, boy.”

            Flynn could have fainted. He really could have keeled over and died just then, with the most satisfaction he’d ever heard. His cock twitched. He was close.

            “Yes, sir,” he said. He knelt on all fours, his dirty palms flat to the floor. He leaned forward and kissed the tips of Aram’s boots—first his right, then his left. Thank you, thank you. Aram unbuckled his pants and pulled his cock out. As Flynn licked and suckled away at his boots, he stroked himself. Slowly, deliberately. Aram wanted to savor every last second of this.

            Flynn, meanwhile, kept his cock in his pants—which were ever-tighter. His lips would suffice for this. He had no need to touch himself. He opened his mouth and covered Aram’s toe cap, like he was making out with it. Oh, how he wanted to swallow the whole thing. But it was too large to fit in his mouth. He moved to the inner crease instead, and flicked his tongue over that. Tasty.

            Aram knew they were both close. Him, especially—Flynn’s tongue was so, so delightful. By some trick of the mind, he could feel it exploring him. He bit his lip from the inside and gripped his cock tighter. Not yet.

            Flynn lifted Aram’s boot and gently guided him as he leaned back, once the footrest was out of the way. He adjusted Aram’s boot so it rested against his chest, just below his chin, and kept lowering himself. Now _he_ was the footrest, and the sole of Aram’s boot was right in front of his face, just barely pressing into him. Aram’s other boot was flat on his sternum.

            “Please,” he said, clutching at Aram’s boots.

            What else could Aram do but comply?

            He stepped on Flynn, just enough to cause a lot of pressure, and some pain. Flynn groaned openly and licked Aram’s sole with his whole tongue. The taste of rubber mixed with polish and leather, and his body jolted. He arched his back and curled his toes within his own pair of boots. He could just barely take in a gasp with all the weight on his lungs.

            “God, yes!” Flynn cried out and writhed. He came in his pants, his cock twitching with each spurt. Seeing his expression was enough to send Aram over the edge.

            “F-fuck,” he grunted. “Flynn!” His cum sprayed out, landing on his boots and Flynn’s face. Flynn, exhausted and glowing, lazily licked his lips. Again, tasty—nearly as good as Aram’s boots.

            Aram slumped in his chair, and Flynn, shaking, got onto his knees. He crawled into Aram’s lap and curled up next to him. The chair accommodated them, despite its size. Aram clutched Flynn close and kissed his forehead.

            “C’mon. Bed, Flynn,” he said. Flynn nodded.

            “Thank you,” he said in a little murmur. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Aram patted his back with a smile, lifted him, and put him in the bed. He climbed in next to Flynn and wrapped his arms around his torso.

            Aram peeked past his legs and admired his boots. Once grubby and old, they now looked and felt like new. The leather caught the light from the setting sun, just beyond the horizon. They shone.

            “I ought to thank you,” he said, softly, and kissed Flynn’s cheek. Flynn curled closer to Aram. Without another word, they fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, I'm new to this bootblacking thing, but it's something I'd like to explore more. Thanks for reading, kudos-ing, bookmarking, commenting, and most of all, putting up with my beginner's attempt at this sort of eroticism. Hope you enjoyed it!


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